


Captain, Alpha, Claude.

by elenajames



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fluff, Gen, Pack Dynamics, Vignette, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9192149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames
Summary: TK takes to the team like a duck to water. Provy does, too . . . just not to Claude.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I literally have no excuse for this and I'm not sorry.  
> I blame castielslittleabomination for enabling me.

On the ice, Provorov is a professional. Hell, he’s more composed than some of the guys Claude’s been playing with for years, guys that have years - if not decades - on the young defenseman. In the locker room, he’s tolerant of Claude’s presence, of the guidance of Simmer and Mark. 

 

On the road, on flights, and in hotels, it’s very clear that Provorov doesn’t think much of Claude’s C - or his alpha status. It’s even more clear that he doesn’t like any of the alphas but  _ especially _ Claude anywhere near Travis. TK, being the sweet ball of energy that he is, doesn’t really seem to notice that he has a self-appointed guard dog. In fact, the young omega takes to the Flyers’ core leadership far better than his alpha counterpart even though Travis had previously been a captain whereas Provorov had not. 

 

In short, Claude has no idea what to do about the rookie. 

 

“He’s so damn good, man. He’s smart. I just don’t get it.” Simmer snorts at Claude’s frustration, warm breath ruffling Claude’s hair. Claude pokes him in the side in retaliation, pushing himself up to glare at his beta before flopping back down. 

 

“Kid’s got good instincts. He’ll settle down. You just gotta do what you do, let him come around.” 

 

It’s not fair for Simmer to be so calm. He’s always the hot one on the ice, willing to fight and chirp before any of the other guys, Claude included. 

 

“I just want him to feel like he belongs here. Like we have his back.” 

 

“So just have his back, G,” Simmer hums, brushing his hand down Claude’s back. “The rest will come.” 

 

* * *

 

The rest doesn’t come. Provorov - Provy, as the guys and fans are calling him - gathers a following quickly, respected by the others for his work ethic and focus and loved by the fans for showing up big when the rest of their D was struggling. It doesn’t look good, then, when Provorov shows hesitance to follow Claude’s lead or insinuates himself between Claude and TK at every opportunity. Hakstol’s noticed because Hakstol notices everything, but he only told Claude in his quiet way that he trusted Claude to do the right thing. 

 

“Ivan. Can we talk?” 

 

The other guys filter out, energetic after their morning skate. A few shoot looks over their shoulders at their alpha, some questioning, others reassuring; none are reproachful or warning, and a quiet part of Claude is grateful for that. 

 

Provorov keeps getting dressed, packing away his gear with practiced efficiency and Claude waits for him to zip his bag shut before trying to talk. 

 

“Am I in trouble?” Provorov asks in his soft voice, just the edge of defiance peeking through. 

 

“Do you deserve to be?” Claude replies, the conversation suddenly reminding him of the “Brioux” boys.  

 

Provorov looks up sharply, but Claude purposefully keeps himself relaxed. It’s tense between them as they stare at each other, Claude seated and calm, Provorov standing and the most flustered Claude’s ever seen him. 

 

“No, Captain. I don’t believe so.” 

 

“Good. We’re on the same page, then.” There’s a flicker of surprise on Provorov’s face then, shuttered away quickly but not soon enough to keep Claude from seeing it. “You’re doing well, you know. You’re an asset to the team, and I want you to know that I’m glad you’re here.” The words aren’t quite what Claude intended to say, and they’re clearly not what Provorov expected to hear. “Keep up the good work, Ivan. If you need anything, let me know.” 

 

Provorov’s nod is stilted, as is his goodbye when he picks up his bag and heads for the door. A tiny part of Claude feels gratified when the young alpha looks back before he crosses the threshold, unconsciously seeking permission to leave that Claude gladly gives before Ivan can look away. 

 

* * *

 

“G?” TK peeks in his motel room, shy like the beeping of the key card hasn’t already alerted Claude to his presence. The kid looks tired, sore after a tough loss and Claude’s wolf whines. 

 

“Come on,” is all Claude says, flinging an arm out across the bed to invite the omega closer. He’s a little surprised when TK climbs on the bed still human, pressing close and tucking his face against Claude’s neck despite the likely scratchiness of his beard. 

 

“I messed up,” TK murmurs after a while, voice small and soft. There’s fear underneath his words and creeping up in his scent. Claude remembers what it was like to be a rookie, to be new and not know your place and feeling like everyone is watching every move you make. 

 

“Yeah. You kinda did.” What is it Danny used to say? Admitting there’s a problem is the first step? “But everyone messes up. You just ah. You gotta look at it the way Ivan does. Figure out where you went wrong and how to change that for next time.” 

 

The kid is quiet for a bit longer, just breathing in Claude’s calming alpha scent. “You sound like my dad.” 

 

“Yeah, well. Happens when you get old.” Claude smiles when TK snorts, nuzzling along the rookie’s forehead, covering him in Claude’s scent. 

 

“G? You called him Ivan.” There’s a question there, but knowledge too, and Claude thinks maybe he and Simmer have both underestimated how much attention TK has been paying to the situation. 

 

It’s not something he should admit, but for his sake, for TK’s, for even Provorov’s - “He doesn’t seem to like me. Especially not near you.” 

 

TK’s little sigh tells Claude all he needs to know. “I can talk to him, G, he’s just protective.” 

 

After Ottowa? Yeah. Claude could understand that. It’s rare for an omega to be named captain, and TK’d taken his share of lumps while proving himself to the naysayers. Claude had played with guys whose home countries had very different ideas about omegas than those from North America; hell, everyone had heard the stories of the fights Malkin had gotten into at the mere hint that someone thought omegas were lesser. Quiet, serious, and loyal, it’s really no wonder that Provorov is wary of all alphas - but especially an alpha captain - around his fellow rookie, his roadie roommate and his closest friend on the team. 

 

“You don’t have to do that. He and I, we’ll have to work this out on our own. Just keep doing what you’re doing.” 

 

Claude doesn’t quite expect the peck on the cheek, but it warms him anyway. “Thanks, alpha.” 

 

* * *

 

Fights are a part of hockey. You defend yourself, your team, your city when necessary. So when TK comes up grinning from a haphazard cluster of players, Claude just breathes a sigh of relief. The kids had done good, standing up for each other, and the other guys had dived right in to back them up. Simmer’s fired up and Gudy is breathless but grinning as he skates back toward the team. Provorov, on the other hand, is pissed, breathing hard as he shrugs off Brodie’s hold and drifts back toward the bench. He shoots a couple of dark looks at Tkachuck and Versteeg as the linesman directs TK towards the box, but obediently comes to sit, nodding as the trainers and coach lean over to talk to him. There’s a shuffle as the next lines get ready to head out onto the ice, and Claude doesn’t miss the opportunity to offer Provorov a quick pat, doing his best to exude approval and calm. 

 

They win, and it’s Stolie’s first and all the young guys are flying high, dragging the rest of them along for the ride. Simmer’s wound up enough to shift, aggravating various teammates by stealing their pads or sticks as soon as the media’s gone. He winds up draped over Claude’s feet, damp fur sticking to Claude’s shins and coating him in Simmer’s scent. 

 

“Overgrown mutt,” Claude chirps, nudging Simmer with one foot, only to get a slobbery lick in retaliation. The wolf is up and across the room before Claude can do anything about it, animal-grin firmly in place before Wayne changes back into his human form so he can pack up. 

 

Zipping his bag shut, Claude glances around the room, instinctively checking over his pack even though he knows everyone’s okay. Provorov still seems ruffled, trying to offer his little smiles and soft goodbyes, but there’s a tightness around his eyes and shoulders that gives him away. As Claude watches, the young alpha shifts restlessly, trying to track TK’s movements around the room surreptitiously. 

 

“Ivan,” Claude murmurs, cautiously stepping closer. Dark eyes flit up to his, sharp in their intensity. “You’re okay. He’s alright.” 

 

A bit of silence settles behind them, wolf ears picking up on Claude’s words no matter how quietly he speaks them. Some of the guys leave as he inches closer to Ivan, the rest talking in muted tones. Those dark eyes stay focused on him as Claude reaches out, stopping just over the edge of a respectful distance away. 

 

Before he can blink, Ivan whips his shirt off and there’s a shredding sound as he shifts to wolf and his sweatpants get destroyed. His hackles are raised, black fur contrasting starkly with white teeth but Claude doesn’t flinch. Whipping his hand out, he grabs a handful of scruff and shakes Ivan firmly by it. 

 

“Settle.” A tense moment flits by before Ivan whines, going lax in Claude’s hold and dropping his eyes to the floor. “That’s it. That’s good, Provy. You’re okay. You did well out there.” It’s always interesting to Claude, the first time he gets to touch one of his pack’s fur. Provy’s is thicker underneath than most of the North American wolves, a testament to his Russian background, but it’s also incredibly soft as Claude loosens his grip to run his fingers through it. 

 

There’s the touch of a wet nose at Claude’s elbow, and the now-familiar eyes of TK greet him as he turns his head enough to look. 

 

“We’re good, eh Provy?” To Claude’s surprise, Provy answers with a little lick to Claude’s chin before he leans down enough to push his snout against TK’s so they can snuffle at each other. 

 

“You got this, G?” Simmer asks. He and Streiter are among the handful left, watchful eyes of elder pack at his back and Claude feels a surge of affection for them all. 

 

“Yeah. Think I’ll take the rookies back to my place for tonight. See you guys at practice.” 

 

TK shifts back to help Claude get their bags to the car, three men’s worth of hockey gear a lot for one guy to manage. Provy trots along behind them, leaping dutifully into the back seat when Claude holds the door open and laying down on the floorboard. The drive is mostly quiet, all three of them coming down from the adrenaline of a good game and a good fight. 

 

There’s nobody around, thankfully, as Claude leads his packmates through the parking lot and into his condo. TK’s been here a few times on his own, so he has no qualms about kicking off his shoes and heading into the kitchen to grab something to drink. Claude can see the hesitation in Provy, torn between following his friend and staying obediently near his alpha. 

 

“Go on. Help yourself, then meet me in the living room.” Provy goes and Claude strips out of his clothes, dropping them in the hamper by the door. He leaves his boxers and tee shirt on for Provy’s sake; nudity isn’t a big deal for the packmates that he’s spent time with, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid right out of the gate. 

 

TK’s surprisingly still human when he makes it to the living room, but his clothes have clearly been abandoned in the hamper. He plunks down next to Claude on the couch, unabashed in his nakedness and proximity. Provy’s on his heels, looking unsure until Claude pats the open cushion next to him. Gingerly, the young wolf settles down, dropping his head onto Claude’s lap when it becomes clear he can’t possibly fit onto the section he’s been allotted alone. He gives a small wolf sigh as Claude drops his hand into that thick, black fur, stroking gently over top and scritching down deep in turns, finding the spots Provy likes best. 

 

“He’s gonna want to look after you,” Claude says after a while, and the whine from Provy tells him the rookie knows he’s talking to him. “You gotta let him, Prov. You gotta let all of us, you’ve got to  _ trust _ us. But you know that, don’t you?” 

 

A little wuff sounds unmistakably like  _ yes _ and Claude offers him an ear scritch in reward. “TK’s a hockey player first and foremost on the ice. You both have a pack, and neither of you have to do this alone.  _ You _ don’t have to do it alone, Provy. You have enough work to do, being starting D and all.” That earns Claude a happy sound from TK and an embarrassed but pleased one from Provy. “Just . . . remember I’m on your side, alright?” 

 

There’s a shift and suddenly Claude is looking down at the dark eyes and pink cheeks of a very human Provorov, fingers still tangled in the boy’s hair. 

 

“I am - I am sorry I doubted you, Claude.” 

 

“No harm done, eh?” 

 

* * *

 

If there’s anything that the rookies have in common, it’s their ability to get under the skin of veteran players just by playing the game. TK’s more of a little shit about it, but it works for them when key guys on opposing teams are focusing more of their energy on the little forward than playing the game. 

 

Claude’s heart stops a little when Jaromir Jagr takes obvious exception to Provy’s play. He should be on the ice, should be there for his packmate - but his alpha grows smug with pride when Provy just holds Jagr’s gaze, not backing down even as he’s herded toward the bench by his linemate. That feeling only grows as he watches Provy play an incredible game; Claude can only laugh when he gets “Save of the Game,” sure the boys will be chirping Provy and Mase both later on. 

 

“Great game,” Claude murmurs later, Provy shivering in excitement in his arms, tail thumping loud against the locker room floor. Wolves and people alike drop by to tussle with the young wolf or to pet his ears or just offer soft words of praise. Even Mase - who did indeed get chirped for getting shown up by a rookie - lopes over, sandy fur still damp from the shower. Provy’s a little nervous when the goalie approaches, but accepts the gentle nuzzle and brief lick across his head with good grace and a tiny, thankful yip. 


End file.
